A Blackened Heart
by Lollipopdiego
Summary: After the witch performs a horrendous prank on the farmer, the wizard shows up on her doorstep to give her a taste of her own medicine. Then when she awakes from her sleep, she finds herself in a life or death situation. For the Rainbow Colors Contest.


_**THIS IS NOT DIEGO'S IDEAL A/N**_

_For Naty17 and wipe-your-tears "Rainbow Colours Competition." This is a contest arranged by seven people (Naty17, wipe-your-tears, MagicalSquaresOfDarkness, Penny ToughGirl, floopyrocks, and lollipopdiego). Each person wrote a separate one-shot based on their colour prompt (either red, orange, yellow, green, blue, or purple). _

_The objective is to get the most reviews by December 3rd. _

_Enjoy.  
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><p><strong><span>A Blackened Heart<span>**

Outside, the wispy grey clouds swarm in the air. The moody atmosphere is heavily layered on this impatient night. Flowers shiver in the chilly breeze while the loose autumn leaves plummet from their branches. Dark skies loom above, and as she stares out the square window, an irritated growl escapes from her mouth.

"_There's nothing to do_!" the witch's shrieking voice echoes in her quart house. The furniture quivers from the intense power. She spins around, tiny hands clenched into fists. She stomps her foot with a nasty scowl plastered on her face. "I'm bored!"

The witch waits for somebody – or _anything _to answer. She listens for a meek peep of a voice, or even a faint cackle.

But like usual, nobody answers.

The dead silence furies her more than ever tonight.

As she glances in the disillusioned mirror, the obnoxious croak of a toad sounds from outside.

Rolling her eyes, she grumbles to herself, "If only frogs could talk."

The witch glowers at herself. She examines those intimidating golden eyes and that unnatural sweep of a silver bob. That pale skin clashes against her complete black attire. As she readjusts her pointed hat, her cheeks puff into a pout.

_I am going insane. _

_I need something to do. _

"Man, I'd be killing the farmers' crops if they weren't going to come at me with burning torches," she mutters. Skinny arms cross her flat chest.

_This really sucks. _

"If only the _other _farmer didn't piss me off. Or she'd be crying about that wimpy field already." The witch runs a comb through her untangled hair for no particular reason.

_Well, you want the fun, don't you? _A mocking voice taunts her. _So why don't you just ruin her field while she's alive? _

Finally, one mischievous smile crawls upon her face.

()()()()()

The sun has begun to peek over the mountains as she strolls through the doorway; something she hasn't done in a while. Rushes of cold air flood in, filling the whole room with a frosty surrounding.

But the witch is too busy laughing. Satisfied cackles reverberate as she rolls up her hanging sleeves. The mere edge of the laughter causes the flickering hearth against the brick wall to tremble.

"That is the best time I've had in weeks! Months!" she shrieks at herself in the mirror. A silly grin is glued to her face. "I am a genius!"

Then with a simple flick of her hand, the door smoothly swings shut. She laughs some more. "The best, I'm telling you! Why didn't I think of it sooner?"

Excitedly squealing, the witch falls against the comfortable bounce of her springing pink bed. "This is the best day ever!"

A pride swells within her. _Well done, girl. You did a fantastic job today._ She tells herself while snuggling under the covers, unable to keep the glee off her face.

And for once, in a very long time, she falls asleep in content.

()()()()()

The moment Molly awakes from a trouble night's sleep, she knows there is something wrong.

In the air, something is off.

Nothing seems..._right. _

An empty space is nagging at her, the faded whispers saying, "Find me, and fix me. We're missing, and we're never going to come back."

Molly is worried.

What is it?

She anxiously glances around.

Every utensil and book is propped in orderly fashion. Each item is organized, and in their correct place. It is exactly how she left it last night before she fell asleep. Nothing is ruined and nothing is torn or shattered.

For the time being, it seems to be alright.

But there's still...could she be mistaken? Her usual morning balance of happiness and confidence is unsteady.

_It...must be something weird. I must have gotten off the wrong side of the bed this morning._

Molly attempts to shrug it off. She sets about to her normal morning activities. Eating a hearty breakfast, then brushing her saliva coated teeth, and then running a wet comb through her frizzy red locks... Each and every appearance in the house seems perfect.

_I'm probably imagining it. _

But she was taught to trust her intuition. And intuition she did trust.

Finally, she slips on her boots, and grabs the massive weight of her sickle along with the watering can. Molly calmly steps outside, and then her eyes dart to her crops.

"HOLY SHIT!" her mouth opens into a terrified scream as the shock hits her. "_What the hell happened?" _Horrified, the tools fall to the drying ground. Doe-like eyes widen, the anguish building a churning fire inside of her. She chokes, "_Why are my crops ruined?" _

The ripened tomatoes are splattered against the soot covered soil. Shriveling lettuce is curled in hopeless piles. Blossoming sunflowers that had stretches so proudly in the rewarding sun now lifelessly slump, the stems chopped down.

There are the plentiful trees containing plump cherries and perfect oranges. The thick branches and strong structure of rough wood are scorched with the mark of lashing fire. The last of a disappeared fire has dispersed above in weak clouds.

Nowhere has she seen even a healthy flash of green. All is dead, ruined, and poor Molly doesn't know why this has happened to her.

_This is hell. _

With a defeated and unbelieving cry, Molly sinks to her knees, and sobs at the tragedy before her.

()()()()()

_Knock, knock, knock. _

The incessant pounding startles the witch. She places the slender silver spoon beside her cauldron and incredulously stares at the trembling door.

_A visitor? _At this time of night? Of this time of week? _Of this time of year? _What's a visitor doing here? Visitors never come.

_No one wants to see the witch. No one_ likes_ me. _

_Knock, knock, knock. _

This time, the knocks are more urgent along with a hint of irritation.

Reluctantly, the witch answers the door.

She catches her breath as she meets an angry glare. Those mismatched eyes intimidate her. In her position, she shrinks back just barely.

As that brilliant emerald eye and its complementing golden one stare at her, she closely examines the visitor's appearance.

Nothing much has changed about him in the last hundred years or so. Except the last time she saw him, he was wearing midnight coloured pants instead of the snowy white ones he has now.

He still sports the usual thick shining silvery hairstyle, complete with a single loose side braid. Thin shoulders are still hidden by a flowing indigo cloak of the endless night sky.

_What is he doing here? _

_I haven't seen this guy in about ninety years! _

She knows that he's not here to simply say hello.

Those thin eyebrows are creased together in a knot. His expression is of resenting rage, and when he opens his mouth, olive skinned hands reach to tug on the silver chain around his neck.

_He's going to tell me off. _

Without wasting a beat, she hides her surprised scorn and snaps, "What do you want, _wizard_?"

He doesn't miss a second either. With equal nastiness, he growls, "Go to hell, _witch._"

His lips twist into a furious snarl. He remains outside, holding up an object she just notices he is clasping. The small light flickers in desperation of keeping alive. Wax drips over her door mat in a hot, sticky mess.

Frighteningly, the wizard says, "You have a black heart for performing such a wicked act."

"Wicked!" the witch disbelievingly scoffs, attempting to slam the door. She wishes never to cross paths with him again for all eternity. "I'm not wicked!"

The wizard quickly restrains, pushing it open once more. As she glances down, she notes the blue veins in his hands that are lividly bulging.

"You are a vile creature," he spits. "How could you do such a thing to Molly?"

"_Molly?_" Confused, the witch stops pressing against him. "Who's _she_?" How does he expect her to remember the names of residents that are going to die in the next fifty years or so? They go as quickly as they come.

"Do you not know Molly the farmer?" he demands, shoving it back open. Taking a step forward, he continues. "Do you not know of Molly, the farmer's crops that you had destroyed?"

So that's the little bratty farmer's name.

She indignantly stares at the wizard, eyes wide in astonishment. "Gee," in a high falsetto voice, she accuses, "I didn't think you actually cared about that stupid farmer!"

_Slam. _

Before she knows it, the witch finds herself in a slump inside her cauldron.

Fumes are rattling her brain. To her, her brain feels all mushy and lost as it violently pounds in her scalp. The gassy stenches are nauseating, and the witch lets out a low moan.

"What the hell was that for?"

If she isn't feeling so hurt, she would have lunged at him by now. The nerve of this guy! You don't throw people into cauldrons because you feel like it! She has to create the potion all over again – those _twenty-six, freaking hours of hard work!_ Why, he should just be cursed into hell for this!

When he fails to answer, she demands, "_What-the-hell-was-that-for_?"

He raises a thin eyebrow. "It was for Molly," he firmly says, curling his aching, now powerless fingers. His mouth is now set into a hard line. As he lets his arms fall to his side, he adds, "I care much about her."

She's just a plain mortal. There's nothing too special about her. _Her _especially. She tries too hard to please everyone, and will annoyingly never stop at anything. "Stupid wizard and his soft spot for humans..." she seethes.

"Molly's different from any human," he states placidly.

"Oh yeah?" the witch's vision is a little blurry as she stands. Drops of gasoline tread on the carpet. Blinking many times, the witch shrieks, "Why would you care about _her_?"

_Damn it. _She silently curses, a hand massaging her damp temple. Ends of her wiry hair are soaked with the potion. Fury crosses her. _Damn that wizard. I want to kick him out of my house. _

And before she actually can, he replies, "Because... I love her."

The witch can't believe her ears. She throws her head back, despite the throbbing, and laughs so hard that the wizard has to cover his ringing ears. Hands reach up to rest on her small waist, with a chin high in the air.

"Love?" she screeches, advancing towards him. "What do _you _know about love? Love is eternal. When we love, it's _forever._" Another deafening laugh causes the wizard to grimace. "You, love? Impossible."

She throws her hands in the air and an invisible force tugs him towards the entrance. "You can't love," the witch accuses. Suddenly she's towering before him, eyes piercing his. "Love is pathetic. Love is for mortals. Are we mortals? _No._"

"Shut up," the wizard shouts, the grip on his candle tightening. The witch notices this. With another shrill cackle, she whacks the candle out of his hands.

It falls to the shriveled grass, the wax instantly pooling in a small puddle. On the curled wick, the flame faintly dances, threatening to die out.

Surprisingly, the wizard stands there, matching the level of her eyes. "Vivi, you do not scare me."

_Oh, so you have the nerve to use my name now, huh? _

Mockingly, she says, "You don't scare me either," and slams the door.

()()()()()

In the grass, the flame glows. The hues of flickering burnt orange and sizzling yellow dance together. The night sky darkens and the fire flares brighter. But only the slightest of breeze can extinguish the faded flame.

As it travels down the wick, it nears the stubby end of the candle. The wax has melted into solid goo in the soil. Frantically, it fights to survive. Fire cackling, the embers flick off the smooth base. Scattering around, the embers sizzle the tips of plant life, and begin to grow.

It catches on patches of papery grass, as well as the spiky texture of prickling bushes. Needing its sustaining fuel, it burns. It spreads across the terrain as quickly as the snap of fingers.

It travels from each winding bush to each small graze of grass. It snakes up the bark of trees, and eats away the wooden bridge stretching across the river. But it is never satisfied.

Violently, the fire twirls, popping and sizzling along the way.

Eventually it grazes the edge of the house. With a hungry twinkle, it scorches the side, the damage causing the structure to begin collapsing.

And inside the house, the witch continues to peacefully sleep.

()()()()()

The witch is awakened by the smell of something burning.

Her first thought is: _That stupid carpenter must be burning wood again._

But she personally knows the carpenter. She scared him off a long time ago. Surely he wouldn't have chosen to reside his fire in a place close to her house?

The witch knows he wouldn't.

The burning smell is much too close.

Snuggling closer into the cozy covers, she lets out a sigh, but it catches at the back of her throat. She lets out a throaty cough. Awkwardly coughing, she attempts to inhale once more, but it only met by the smoldering substance of ashes.

She opens her eyes, and gasps. Everywhere she can see the blazing fire. The scarlet reds and the ginger oranges are spreading across her house. Yellow at the tips are sickly as they radiate her possessions. The intensity nearly blinds her.

She has to squint to see. Sitting up in bed, she takes a good look around.

From all directions, the fire is glaring at her. It suddenly races towards her, wanting to taste the witch's flesh.

It happens so fast, that a mortal wouldn't have time to react.

Only a mortal, though. Instinctively, the witch dodges the flaring lunge that almost scorches her arm, rolling to the floor with a frightened squeal.

_That was a close call. _

As the flames lick the wooden walls, she desperately scrambles to her feet. She takes care where to step, for the flames have already gobbled her beautiful fuzzy pink slippers. On her tip toes, the witch leaps around, anxious of the end.

What if I die?

The mere thought of dying brings unfamiliar tears to her eyes. She has never given a single thought about dying through her one thousand, two hundred and eighty years until today. Death! Ha! How could she ever be facing death?

But then again, she has never been caught in a fire in her immortal life – a fire being the one essential that can befall a witch.

Dubiously, she touches her wet cheeks. _Am I really crying? _

Sniffling, the witch shakes her head in disbelief. Crying! She's crying! Out of all human things to do, she's crying! Crying is for humans. Crying is for the weak.

_Then I'm calling myself weak. _

The witch, being weak? If someone had called her weak, she would have laughed in their faces and brought despair upon them.

But at that moment, she's the weak one.

She's the one who needs help.

_I don't want to die. _

Sobbing, the witch whips around, trying to find the door within all the blackened mess. It's difficult to see through these thick ashes and the crumbling walls.

The tip of her hat catches on the roof up ahead. With another pained cry, she flings it away, abandoning it to reduce to ashes in the corner.

Once upon a time, she would have never departed with her hat, even if it meant costing her former familiar's life.

Now, nothing mattered except her life.

Fiercely, she repeats in her head, _I don't want to die. _

_Come on, think! What puts out fire? _

The answer is: water.

She frantically racks her head, trying to remember the spell of storms and rain.

But it won't come to her.

Why can't she remember it?

Why is it so hard to remember?

So she stands in the middle of the room, helpless, and the only thing that she has left it hope.

Hope swells inside of her that maybe, she can survive. _Please, oh Harvest Goddess, I know we're not friends or anything, but please save me. I know I haven't been such a great person, but I promise I'll make it up to you. _

Hopping around, the witch flushes as the heat encloses her. _What the hell am I supposed to do? _

A thick, choking steam is surrounding her. The house is already starting to extinguish, and if she doesn't move fast, she's going to burn with it.

_Maybe it won't hurt to die. _

_I've lived long enough, haven't I? _

She's observed almost everything that has come and gone in this world.

She's seen world wars happen. Everything was destroyed in the end, and with a few decades of work, it was like nothing had ever happened with the lush terrain and the restored cities.

She's seen the medieval times with spears and arrows and swords. She's witnessed arrows flying across the forest towards their targets. When people went into war, they prepared with armour and their best horses, valiantly galloping across the hills.

She's seen the dragons and the fairies fluttering around. She remembers the feel of rough skin ripping scales under her skin as she rested on the back of a dragon. Those magnificent wings pumped, soaring through the sky as they chased others of their stunning kind. Rainbow winged fairies with sapphire blue skin giggled, their chimes bringing annoyance to her ears as the witch shooed their pesky bodies away.

She's met creatures from ghosts to mermaids to unicorns. Foolish men have been dragged under the choking sea with the deadly mermaid's kisses. Ghosts have killed arrogant mortals stepping into their territories. Unicorns have pierced their breasts, striking hard enough so that they drove into the beating heart.

Once, she was even on the boat of the best pirates of the sea. The creaking floorboards of the ship were always threatening to collapse if she weren't careful. The rush of scenting the salty ocean always made her uneasy.

The witch has perceived much in the years that she has lived.

Maybe she has lived too long. Maybe it is time to leave this world.

A flame scorches the tips of her fingers, painfully searing her skin and she winces, shaking the fire away. What can she do about this? Eventually she's going to be burned.

And as she's beginning to accept her fate, the witch sees a spurt of light soar across the room, like a shooting star. It reminds her of a hawk taking to the sky.

She suddenly remembers the spell of flight. She used it when on that dragon, but she hasn't even given a second thought about it since. Together they flew higher than any dragon had before, laughing from the bottom of their stomachs. Even the witch was bouncing up and down. A flashback of the wind whipping through her hair brings the spell to the surface of her mind.

She chants the incantation quickly and without hesitation.

Then she's propelled straight up in the air without harm. The freezing air huddles her body, the frostiness nipping at her face. But she doesn't care about the cold. She gives a boisterous laugh of joyfulness.

Alive! Free! Why didn't she think of the spell of flight sooner?

The witch clutches her stomach, and whoops, somersaulting in circles. Outside, the sky is black, the stars littering the surface. For once, the witch doesn't mind that nobody can see her. It's like a dream come true. Being alive! _Alive!_

Her golden gaze averts down, and she sighs in relief.

She watches her house demolish into blackened ash. The windows burst, shattering to the ground into hundreds of shards. As each plank of wood is eaten away, the witch realizes that she needs to find a new house.

Her mood fades from happiness to sadness. There is no way she can get everything back now, after that. How can she live life like she used to?

Slowly, it disintegrates, caving into a pile of rubble and dust.

Then within an hour, the fire dies out with nothing to feast on, and there's nothing left.

But the crackling of the fire is still loud in her ears. She tenderly rubs the burn mark on her fingers, biting her lip in anxiousness.

The witch is carefully observing the leftovers. It's like a house never resided there in the first place. All she can see is a large patch of soil, covered with dark ash, black as ink.

_This all happened so fast. _

All her possessions are scattered in the area, torn and half melted like blobs on paper. Together they look as if someone had gathered them altogether and set fire to it. There's nothing left for her to pick up.

Silently, the witch floats in the air, and proceeds to gradually sink from above. Her stomach drops in disappointment as she touches the ground. Bare feet probe against the thin muddle. A concerned frown is etched upon her face.

Realization dawns upon her.

She has taken everything for granted, and this is the result. In guilt, she cries and sinks to her knees. Why? Why did she have to be so cruel? The events quickly add up in her mind. From the boredom to the burning of the farmer's crops to the wizard's visit...It all made sense.

_It's my entire fault. _

_This all happened because I had a blackened heart. _

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><p><em>AN: The other participants and their colours:_

_Naty17 - Red  
>floridapanda28 - orange<br>wipe-your-tears - yellow  
>floopyrocks - green<br>Penny ToughGirl - blue  
>MagicalSquaresOfDarkness - purple<em>

_If you have time, please check them out. :) _

_Also, please check out Naty's new forum called The Writer's Block. The link is here: fanfiction .net/forum/The_Writers_Block/99598/ oh, also on my profile too._

_**DIEGO'S REAL A/N**  
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_**Thanks for reading! Hope you liked this. I worked a while on this. (:  
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_**JUST A SHOUT OUT TO ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS, HERO'SVALOUR132! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CAM! **_

_Peace out! _

_~diego  
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